


After All

by Sherlock_and_his_hobbit



Category: Avengers, Captain America (Movies), Captain America the Winter Soldier, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-09
Updated: 2014-10-04
Packaged: 2018-02-04 00:24:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1760641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlock_and_his_hobbit/pseuds/Sherlock_and_his_hobbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after The Winter Soldier, The Avengers need to take down The Winter Soldier as his head count continues to rise, Steve swears to find another way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

“He doesn’t know what his doing! It’s not his fault.” Steve growled at the people surrounding him; he stood by the state of the art microwave in Tony’s kitchen. Bruce looked sympathetic, well as much as someone who had just suggested they murder an innocent, sort of, man could, while standing in the doorway. Clint looked like he wanted to grab an arrow and fly it straight into Steve’s head, body tense as he perched on the bench. Thor looked like the confused and sad puppy he often seemed to be, leaning against the counter, Natasha had an expressionless mask on, standing to the side. Tony, who Steve expected to be the least patient, was the only one who hadn’t tried to convince him that killing his best friend was the only way.

“He’s dangerous!”

“He’s killed innocent people.”

“He’s not the person you knew.”

“I hate to say this but it’s time to let him go.”

And finally from the all so helpful Clint Barton, “It’s him or us.”

Well I choose Bucky! Steve wanted to shout. He had known these people for less than a year, Bucky had been with him his whole life, yes the Avengers worked well together, Steve even considered them friends, but compared to Bucky they were nothing. Bucky was the person who’d ran the streets of Brooklyn with him, stealing food for the asthmatic runt who couldn’t get it on his own. Steve would be dead without Bucky, he was the only one who really cared for Steve because he was Steve, everyone else wanted Captain America, the muscly superhero, Bucky was the only one who had cared about the thin, asthmatic Steve who could never of survived on his own and Steve would be damned if he was going to kill him.

“Steve, he’s not Bucky anymore.” The words were spoken in a voice one might use so as not to startle a frightened animal.

It took all of Steve’s personal restraint to not punch Bruce Banner, but the last thing he wanted to do, well second last thing after killing Bucky, was to make the scientist hulk out and destroy Tony’s tower, it had only just been repaired after the battle of New York. Instead of punching Bruce, Steve strode out of the kitchen pushing past the various superheros blocking his path, yes it was a childish move, but setting off the hulk was an even more childish move.


	2. Chapter Two

Knockknockknock. Steve had rode his motor bike back to his little apartment after he stormed out of Tony’s kitchen, he had been sulking for a few hours before his thoughts were interrupted by an incessant knocking at his door. Any mannered person would knock a few times and wait for a reply but this knocking didn’t pause for a second. Knockknockknock. Steve walked to the door, and standing there was no other but the great Tony Stark himself. Steve should have known.

Tony walked in without Steve’s invitation. The blonde shut the door behind the man, who was now picking up Steve’s various collection of what was now consider antique goods and then placing them back down, The Captain was pretty sure that if he used the weird slate of glass and went on the internet and googled ‘Entitlement’ and ‘Rude’ there would be a huge picture of Tony Stark.

“It’s like walking into a time portal.” The short man remarked, plonking himself down on Steve’s couch.

Steve felt like dragging him out the door and slamming it shut, but unlike some people he had been raised with something he liked to call manners.

“I had to kill the person who had always been a father to me. More of a father than Howard ever was anyway.” Tony told the wall in front of him, ignoring the dip in the couch when Steve sat next to him. It always shocked Steve when Tony said something like that about Howard; the man Tony talked about was not the man Steve knew.

“I’m not killing Bucky.”

“Yo should try to get him back first, but if you can’t, well we all have to do things we can barely live with.” Tony without the sarcasm was terribly off putting.

“I can’t live with killing Bucky.” Steve stated.

“You don’t have to kill him, just not kill the person who does.”

Steve couldn’t imagine anything but blind rage at the thought of someone, someone he trusted with his life, harming Bucky. Natasha would twist his neck with ease, Barton would shoot an arrow at him with deadly precision, Thor would summon a lightning bolt from the sky, Bruce would slam his lifeless body over and over again into the ground, and Tony would take him out with one shot from his suit. The images racing through his mind made Steve sick.

“I’m not sure I could do that either.”

“Who was he to you anyway? The records only talk of him as your side kick.”

Steve nearly laughed, Bucky his side kick, if anyone was anyone’s side kick, Steve was Bucky’s.

“He was…” How did Steve explain Bucky? A friend? He was more than that. His lover? He certainly wasn’t telling Tony that. The closest thing he had to family after his mother had died? “Like family.”

Tony was a genius, annoying, childish, socially inept, but a genius; so of course he knew what Steve was thinking. “Like a brother? Or a lover?”

Steve knew that being ‘gay’ (once Natasha had asked him how he felt on a day where he had finally figured out how to use a coffee machine and Steve had replied, “Gay.” Natasha had explained to him how much lingo had changed) wasn’t considered as bad as it was before, there were pride marches now, no one was sentenced for being gay but things still weren’t great, for every newspaper he saw with a happy queer couple he saw two with someone committing suicide, or being killed due to their sexual preference. Steve was about to open his mouth to deny everything when he realised that lying wouldn’t make any difference now, he had been too quiet for too long.

“Captain America, a homosexual, who would have known?” Tony chuckled to himself.

Steve turned beetroot red; the super soldier serum hadn’t changed how easily he blushed.

“Well I hate to break it to you, but true loves kiss doesn’t break the curse of a brain modified by Hydra, you can sit this one out Cap but the rest of us can’t, there was another killing this morning, screamed Winter Soldier.” Tony rambled on, not noticing Steve’s fist clenching, he may of set off on the wrong foot with Tony, he may have been proven wrong about him, but any man who could so easily talk about slaughtering the man he loved while Steve was in the room, was an asshole.


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three  
Steve wanted to be able to flip through photo albums, but orphans who couldn’t afford food didn’t have cameras, and even if Steve had he would have lost all his photos in the ice. Instead he imagined Bucky, the old Bucky who knew who he was, here. Steve was debating whether Bucky would tell him to get up and buy some waffles, ‘Stop moping and do something! By something I mean waffles, you can afford those now, and if you can afford waffles you should defiantly have waffles.’ Or whether Bucky would wrap his arms around Steve and pull him to his chest, Bucky and Steve had never changed the position they lay in after Steve had his ‘growth spurt’ to Steve, Bucky would always be the tall one.  
There was a knock on the door, and not an incessant knockknockknock but just one sharp knock. Steve dragged himself off his couch and too the door, he opened it, there was Natasha, Steve loved Natasha, when he didn’t know something she didn’t laugh at him, or go off in some weird tangent like Bruce did, sure she was a bit blunt at times but he knew where he stood with her, or at least where she wanted him to think he stood, Natasha was an exceptionally good spy after all.  
“Come in,” Steve offered.  
Once the pair were sitting on the couch (couch getting a lot of Booty today), Natasha handed him a pile of pamphlets, ‘LGBT+: Being Queer in America,’ the top flyer was entitled.  
“Uh,” Steve was torn between saying thanks and denying everything.  
“Tony told me you kicked him out, he then proceeded to tell me about your conversation, if you plan on coming out talk to Fury first, he’ll want to tell you how to handle the public, and I’m sorry about Bucky, but I’m more sorry for the people he’s killed.”  
“That’s not Bucky killing those people.”  
“Your right, it’s not, we won’t be killing Bucky, not really.”  
Why didn’t anyone get it? Bucky wasn’t killing those people, it was Hydra, but Bucky was still inside that mind-controlled suit, you would still be killing him. “He’s in there somewhere.”  
“How do you know that, Steve?”  
“He saved me.”  
“From drowning in a river he threw you into, from a height that would have killed any ordinary man.”  
“I’m not an ordinary man.”  
“Bad things happen to good people, and you are a very good person, who lots of bad things have happened to, and that’s awful, but you’re clinging on to a dead man, a dead man whose body is currently killing innocents.  
…  
“There are people you can see to help with the loss.”  
“I’m not going to lose him, not again.”  
“Steve…”  
“I can’t.” This would be the moment he would leave but it was his house so he couldn’t really, instead he waited until Natasha got the point and left him to reminisce.


	4. Chapter Four

Steve’s eyes blinked open, there was a figure looming over his bed, he was on his feet in a second, crouched low, ready to pounce.  
The figure’s head followed his action, he wore a muzzle, one you’d use to keep your dog in check, not something to put on a human, and his hair was long and scraggly, he was dressed all in black, an intimidating person; not someone you wanted sneaking into your room in the middle of the night.  
“Your name is Steve.” His voice was cracked, as though he wasn’t used to using it, like the words he spoke were foreign.  
The Captain straightened up, he wanted to pull the man in for a hug, but by the rigid way the man stood and talked he decided that was not the best approach.  
“And I know you.”  
“You do.”  
“How do I know you?” The man’s face was etched with confusion.  
Steve took a few steps towards his bed, sitting on it, hoping Bucky would join him. When he didn’t Steve just began talking, “My mother died when I was eleven, I was dropped off at St. Clair’s orphanage, you came there sometimes, when the weather was awfully bad or you needed a meal, it closed when I turned fifteen. You showed the other boys where they could live, told them to not steal to much from one place, but I was too weak to be left on my own, you looked out for me, got a job, got us off the streets.” The memories were hard ones, but they were also fond ones, Bucky worked wherever he could to get enough money to scrap together rent while Steve found food, he didn’t like stealing, hated it with a passion, but he found that if he raked the old ladies lawn he could get a loaf of bread, or if he did the dishes for Michael he would get a couple of pizza slices, it wasn’t much, but it was enough to live on.  
Bucky looked less tense now, but he still hadn’t moved, he looked like a silent sentry, standing guard over Steve’s bed, less like a threat. “When the war started we both tried to join up, you got in, of course, they wouldn’t let me anywhere near it, I was sickly, but eventually a man took pity on me, or saw something in me, I don’t know, they changed me, made me good enough to fight, and I went to war and found out that you had been captured, taken by these people called Hydra.”  
Bucky tensed at the name, hands curling into fists. Steve wanted to undo that word.  
“They hurt you Buck.” Steve told him softly.  
The man shook his head once, whatever had lead him to Steve was gone. Hydra, he worked for Hydra. He shouldn’t be here. But Hydra was gone, destroyed, there was no one to give orders anymore, no one to tell him what to do; he had to carry out his Master’s work alone, and he was not doing that by talking to a man who stood for the opposite of everything Hydra stood for. It was a mind trick played by a stupid American, who fondly called him by a name he couldn’t even remember. It took a lot to be quicker than a super soldier but years of training had Bucky out of Steve’s apartment’s window before Steve could catch him. Captain America followed his childhood friend, of course he did, but The Winter Soldier wasn’t called a ghost for no reason.  


 

Steve was going to tell them about his meeting with Bucky, he really was but even though he was loyal SHEILD and this strange new America he had woke up to, he was more loyal to Bucky, he always would be.

Steve may technically be the leader the Avengers, but well no, he wasn't anything near the leader, he was a figurehead. Steve had always been a figurehead, ever since he'd been turned from the kid who got beat up by basically everyone to the chemically induced super soldier he was now. Yes, he commanded the Avengers while in battle and he was actually doing something useful now but when it came to deciding missions he was still looked at like the person who read propaganda off the back of his cardboard shield.  
Colson, turns out he was alive, Natasha had known the whole time but the rest of the Avengers had been pretty shocked, rubbed at his eyes. They had discussed the ins and outs of hunting down the Winter Soldier and Steve hated to say it but the positives were out weighing the negatives; that was if you didn't know Bucky, if you didn't realise how important he was.  
"He's killing people Steve," Colson told the super soldier who was steadfastly refusing to change his stance on the matter. "Look, we'll try to bring him in unharmed, but if it all goes sour, it's us before him."  
Colson closed the folder on The Winter Soldier, a collection of snippets and whispers over the years, never any real facts. Steve remembers how disorientating it had been waking up in a new century; imagine every coupe of decades having to change your whole view on the world. The Avengers filed out behind Colson. Steve remained seated, as though not leaving the office room would change the discussion, would bring Bucky back home to him unharmed.

 

Weeks past, Clint and Natasha went out on missions, Tony avoided CEO meetings, Thor was probably being Godly in Asgard, Bruce did a ton of yoga and Steve went to therapy and press meetings; Bucky wasn’t heard from, not by the Avengers or SHEILD or Steve.  
Everything was normal, they may have decided that killing Bucky was their only option, but finding someone who had been very aptly described as a ghost, it was about as easy as it sounded.

The terror at having to see Bucky die again, when the nightmares of him still falling, hand stretching out to grab Steve’s and the look of shocked terror as his fingers only meet with thin air, still haunted him to this day, started to ebb. There wads a new worry though; of never hearing from his best friend again, of learning that the man who Steve trusted his life with had in fact died without Steve even knowing.  
The Captain wanted to look for Bucky, he wanted desperately to find him, yes he wasn’t the same Bucky that Steve had watched fall to his death, but he was still in there, trapped somewhere under the mask of the merciless assassin; that had been proven when he had shown up at Steve’s apartment that night; but Steve wasn’t an idiot he knew that he couldn’t search for Bucky, not when finding him meant killing him.

The topic of The Winter Soldier was almost completely forgotten, it seemed that he had done what he did best, what he'd been doing since he's creation, he disappeared. Steve found himself waking up in the middle of the night seeing shadows, thinking they were Bucky's, but it always turned out to be his over active imagination turning a clothes rack, a cupboard or a lamp into the one armed man.  
So when Steve's phone startled him out of sleep with a horrendously loud buzzing Steve's mind leapt to thoughts of captured children, or Hydra camps that had been found.  
"Get in now!" Fury yelled at him through the phone, Steve flinched away from the noise and held the offending device at arms length so he could just hear the words, "He's back."  
Steve was in his Captain America gear and on his motorbike in record time; he came to a screeching halt launching off his motorbike and racing until SHEILD, without pausing. What he ran into wasn't what he expected, no one was standing there with files or sending teams to the place where they had found Bucky all with that calm efficiency that SHEILD prided itself on; instead it was chaos.  
The place was trashed, tables up turned and then the bodies, there were three of them, not people Steve had known but they all wore the SHEILD uniform, Steve grabbed a head set from one of the bodies, apologizing silently to the women as he put it on.  
"What happened Fury?" Steve asked, making his way further into the building.  
"Get into the prison cells now, the high security ones." Fury ignored the Captain's question.  
Steve bolted forward, his mind coming up with thousands of horrifying ways that this could of happened.  
What he saw in that cell was just as horrifying as any of them, there stood The Winter Soldier, he had been cuffed to a metal chair that was bolted to the ground, each wrist attached to an arm rest and each foot to a leg rest, a lot tighter than one would do for most prisoners, and there was Fury holding a gun to the man's head.  
The Soldier looked worse for wear, his hair grew half way down his back and tangled everywhere, eyes heavy with lack of sleep, body frail from malnourishment, he was snarling something in Russian and though Steve had no ideas what words he was speaking it wasn’t difficult to get the gist of them.  
"Everyone but Steve out!" Fury yelled, the ten or so people who had been standing around the cell, guns on the ready backed down; scurrying out of the cell with dubious looks, they had clearly seen the damage that The Winter Soldier could inflict.  
"What happened sir?" Steve asked Fury, as he stared at the chained soldier, apart from the body they shared there was no similarities, this was a vicious revenge ridden man, not the Bucky who looked after a sick idiot who always picked fights with people twice his size.  
"He set himself up in the rafters, don't fucking asked me how he did it, we have security searching for that now, and shot three of our agents before we located him and got him down, then he put up a hell of a fight, injuring several people and just about completely destroying our foyer. Now I'm in a good mind to kill him-"  
Panic tore at Steve, this wasn't Bucky, this was decades of Red Room conditioning, "If you do I'll leave SHEILD." It wasn’t much, but it was all Steve had.  
Fury glared at Steve for the interruption before continuing, "But I'll give you one week to see if you can get through to your friend, you can't I shoot him and you stay here, you can we all get a happy ending." With that Fury slammed the gun on the table, "And if he gets out of those chains, you shoot him, no hesitation, I won't have him killing anymore of my agents.”  
Once Fury's footsteps faded into the distance Steve turned to look at the man. "Hey Buck, you know me."  
The words only seemed to anger the man more he shouted something in Russian at Steve.  
"Uh, sorry. I- can you please speak English?" Steve wasn't really sure how to do continue this conversation if both of them spoke a different language.  
"You stupid American, you think you can control me?" He snarled at Steve in a heavy Russian accent that made the words of the familiar language hard to understand.  
"I don't want to control you. I want to help you."  
"That would be a lot more believable if I wasn't in chains."  
"You killed three agents, we need to take precautions Bucky."  
"Who the hell is Bucky?" The words brought Steve back to the rooftop, when the mask fell off and he first saw his attacker’s face.  
"Do you know who I am?" Steve asked, voice gentle, please say yes, god I couldn't take it if you said no.  
"Yes," Steve's heart leapt, this could work, this could really work, "A stupid American who believes he is better than everyone." And Steve's heart fell.  
"What do you know about me?" Did the soldier remember anything? Did he know that Steve had been his mission, that he had let him live, dragged him from the waters that he was sure to drown in?  
"I remember that-" The man cocked his head in a way that was so Bucky it made Steve want to scream. "I was meant to kill you?" The words came out as a question.  
He doesn't remember what he was tasked with. Until then he had just assumed that the red room had deleted Bucky and created, in his place, The Winter Soldier, but it seemed that even The Winter Soldier didn't get to remember. Steve sat down on the investigator’s chair, which was bolted in five meters from the prisoner’s chair, it was to stop agents getting to close, the criminals that were in these cells were not ones you wanted to mess with.  
"What's your name?" Asking the man who was so clearly Bucky this was not an easy task for Steve, he feared that the answer given wouldn't be one the name that Steve knew.  
"My name is..." Bucky paused, looking at Steve with confusion, gone was the angry man who had killed three agents this morning, here was the sad and broken creature that had showed up in Steve's apartment looking for answers to who he was, to what he was.  
"Do you remember what you did last week?" Steve asked gently, not wanting to scare away this man.  
"I-" Bucky paused staring into space, as though his mind was just starting to realise there were gaps.  
"What about yesterday?"  
"I don't know?"  
"Bu-" Steve paused, calling him by his name was only going to confuse Bucky more, "What's the last thing you remember?"  
Bucky just stared at Steve, brown eyes wide as he scrambled desperately to realise what was happening. "There was a man. He held a gun. He wanted to shoot me. You stopped him. Why did he want to shoot me?" Bucky looked at Steve like a young child at a parent, who could tell him the right answer and make everything better.  
"You really don't remember?" Steve couldn't believe that, how could someone just forget killing three people within an hour?  
Bucky didn't say anything.  
"Do you know where you are?" There had to be a reason that Bucky had chosen to attack SHEILD, you didn't accidentally attack an agency this secret and this powerful who just so happened to be the organization that destroyed the one that had previously controlled you.  
"I don't know." The words were slow and heavy, as he considered his answer, "I don't know." He repeated. "I don't know where I am. Where am I? What am I doing here?" Bucky started to yank desperately at his to tight chains, panic written across his face.  
This was not the Winter Soldier anymore, this wasn’t Bucky either, an in between of forgotten memories and fear.  
"Bucky, Buck, calm down I'm here, it's okay." Steve stood up and grabbed Bucky's shoulder.  
"Get away from me!" The man screeched, the contact only causing him to panic more.  
Steve backed up, hands in the air, before sitting slowly back in his chair, "Okay, it's alright, I'm not going to hurt you."


	5. Chapter Five

Once again Steve was woken up from by an unwelcome sound, this time, however, it wasn't the sharp ringing of a phone. Steve stood bolt upright, blinking a few times, dazed, he couldn't remember falling asleep, the cell didn’t have any indication of the time that had passed either.  
"I won't do it! You can't make me do it!" The voice was so Bucky, the heavy Brooklyn accent that no one had anymore echoed in the small cell.  
Steve wasn't sure what to do, let the nightmare pass or risk waking up the man who cursed at him in Russian and clearly had no clue who Steve was. The super soldier hesitated, watching the man struggle against his chains, unsure of how to handle the situation; but when it all came down to it Steve could never bare to see Bucky in pain.  
"Buck." He shook the shoulder of the sleeping man  
The eyes that stared at him in terror weren't Bucky's not really; Bucky and his memories had been left in the world of dreams, the man that existed in the waking world looked at him with terror, no trust, no friendship existed there. This man wasn’t either Steve’s childhood friend of the mindless assassin, just a casualty of war.  
Steve didn't know what to do, wasn't sure if the semblance of memory that had lead this man into his apartment in search of answers was still there. The soldier's brain had been wiped so many times it couldn't even seem to recall what he had done only a few hours ago.  
"Would-" Steve paused, unsure of what he wanted to say, "Would you like to see some things? From then?"  
The man looked at him, distrusting the man who kept him captive. Steve waited for the refusal, waited for the angry Russian words to spill from the man's lips, but they didn't, instead the man nodded, a barely perceptible tilt of the head, but still a nod.  
Steve smiled at Bucky. This wasn't hopeless, this could happen; he could get Bucky back. Steve stood up from his chair slowly, taking care not to startle the chained man, when he exited the cell an agent, who Steve had not meet before stood there, a plate of sandwiches and drinks in one hand and a filing box of photos and memorabilia in the other.  
"What? How did you-?" Steve stuttered, had they just guessed that he'd need these eventually, how long had this man been standing there?  
"Cameras sir." The agent told him.  
"Huh?" Steve looked around as though expecting a camera to suddenly leap out at him.  
"Cameras are installed in all the cells, to small for the human eye to see."  
"Oh," Steve wasn't sure what else to say. Well thanks for telling me now? Nice to know I'm being watched?  
"Is there anything else you'll be needing sir?" The agent asked him.  
"No, that should be fine, thank you."

\------------------------

 

Bucky's eyes followed the sandwiches, like a starved animal. When was the last time he had eaten? He couldn't remember. He couldn't remember anything. There were brief glimpses, more sensations then memories; reaching out to touch an image of someone in the glass (himself? He didn't even know his own reflection anymore) right before he was frozen, the numbing cold before he fell into sleep; the feeling if his body being set on fire, every bit if him being shot with electricity, pain, pain, pain. It was all he could remember.  
But as the man held a sandwich to his mouth, allowing him to eat despite the chains, he thought he could remember other things. The hacking cough of a tiny boy as he spoon fed him soup, having to half carry the same tiny boy out of fights, gently kissing him on his forehead as he feel asleep; praying he would make it through the night. The man wasn't sure if these were memories, or just things he had made up, he wasn't sure if he was capable of kindness like that.  
The man ate the sandwich, briefly wondering if it was poisoned, but why would they bother? The gun lay on the table, a menacing reminder that he was a prisoner; if the chains were not enough, that is.  
"Water?" The man's eyes widened and he flinched, don't ask for anything, don't do it, don't, don't, don't. He remembered the electricity like every bit of him was on fire at the same time, obey, listen, don't question, and don’t ask for anything. Obey what? He couldn't remember.  
"Sure." The blonde held the glass up so the man could drink.  
The man licked his lips, "Thank you... Steve." The man didn't know why he said it, it seemed right, but was it? He couldn't remember anyone named Steve.  
From the way the blonde's face lit up, Steve's face, he gathered he had got it right.  
He wasn't sure what to do with the look of glee on the taller man's face, how did one respond to such happiness?  
"You remember?" The words were pure hope and they made the man freeze he wasn't sure how to answer this question so he stayed silent, hoping that would not result in punishment.  
The blonde... Steve, passed him a photo. The grainy black and white image depicted a man; his hand hooked around the shoulder of a boy so small it looked like the wind could blow him away.  
"That's you and me."  
He stared at the taller man in the photo with renewed curiosity. That was him? And the smaller man, how had he grown into the giant that now stood before him? "You were so tiny."  
Steve snorted at the remark, "Yeah well, you used to talk shit about guys with long hair."  
The words confused the man for a second, his hand rising to touch his hair that hung in matted strands around his chin. "What do I look like now?"

________________

The memories came while sleeping; when his mind wasn't searching for them they danced across it, always disappearing before he could catch them. They didn't cut his hair, because they couldn't be bothered, the shadows that hung beneath he had seen in the mirror were well deserved if his dreams were right. He tossed in his sleep as much as the chains that still bound him would allow, as the memories of killing came to his mind. He'd sneak into American training camps gained trust, and then slaughtered them all, he'd killed leaders and civilians, anyone that the Red Room saw as a threat and he'd done it without question. He wasn’t man, not really, but a weapon; one that would destroy whatever it was pointed at, one that had no feelings of its own.  
When the man awoke he was alone. Steve had left his post and without him the man felt more like a prisoner, he chained up a gun lying on the table and the odds of survival didn’t appear to be in his favor. He took up a watchful position eyes dancing across the room, the weak point would be between the wall and the door but even that looked unbreakable, despite his metal arm.  
"Hello, good to see you!" A remarkably loud man for his size strode into the room. "So your Stevie's lover boy? Nice to meet you. I'm Tony Stark. Possibly the most brilliant man you'll ever meet and don't let them tell you otherwise." The onslaught of words shocked him to say the least, and he took an instant dislike to this Tony, but he was small and didn't look like a huge threat, so how bad could he be?  
"So SHEILD is sort of still in the dark ages when it come to technology, you and Capsicle would know about that I suppose, anyway they needed to bring in someone who actually understands how to take off your arm without it exploding or something. Actually by the look of it the Russians really were in the Dark Ages." At this point Tony were running his hands over the matal arms. He sat still even though in a split second he could have bit into Tony's arm hard enough to draw blood. "You."  
The SHEILD agent who stood at the sealed door glanced behind him despite the fact that he was alone. "Get me the keys to these chains I need his shirt off before I can do anything." Tony’s voice implied that this was obvious and this whole procedure was a waste of his very important time  
Once his top half was bare Tony let out an appreciative whistle, "Steve did well, considering how much of a shrimp he used to be." Tony ran his hand over the scared skin that was where his metal arm merged with his skin. "Jesus Christ how the hell did they do this.”  
The man couldn’t really remember, didn’t know what it was like to not have the arm, it was part of him now.  
Tony wrapped on the arm, making a clanging noise, “Can you feel that?”  
“конечно.” The man snapped, the presence of Tony put him on edge, giving him no desire to speak anything but his mother tongue.  
“Jarvis, translate.” Tony muttered into the headset that he was wearing.  
“It means, ‘of course,’ sir.” Jarvis replied.  
“Fascinating.” Tony yanked Bucky’s arm up, craning his next to study it, as he continued to twist it around. “Is it alien tech? How long have you had it? When did the Russians get this technology? Are there others like you? Jarvis is there any data on this? Just how well can you feel?”  
The man yanked back his arm and muttered something in Russian at Tony. “Well you heard him folks, we can't undo the arm but despite being stronger than the average arm it doesn't appear to have any powers above that of a human arm. Unchain him."  
The guard handed the gun to Tony, “Can’t have this in here with him.” Once the door was sealed the guard unchained the man. It wasn’t until the doors were sealed once more and the man was alone that he moved. Relishing on being able to stretch.

______________

The blonde man, Steve, he corrected himself returned not fifteen minutes later, holding two take away coffee cups an uncertain smile on his face.  
"I see you've still got your arm, I told them it was unnecessary to remove it."  
The man nodded from his spot in the corner, he was crouched there, waiting, coiled up, and ready to spring, like a cat waiting for a bird to flutter by.  
Steve gave up waiting for a reply quickly, getting used to holding the one sided conversations between the man who looked like Bucky but wasn't really Bucky.  
"I brought coffee. They have all these weird sorts now, it's insane how many different ways you can get your coffee." He offered a grin to the man who nodded stiffly as a way of replying. "I just got black though, two sugars."  
The ragged man launched himself to his feet, and walked towards Steve. His mind mapping out all the ways he could kill him, with his hands full of coffee it would be almost easy, but it wasn't as if it would help, this cell was as secure as any cell was going to get. Bucky just took the offered cup, he held it for a second, before uttering "Thank you."  
"Bucky-" Steve started  
"Why do you call me that? I've seen the museum, my name was James."  
The question startled Steve, he could remember the last time that he had called his friend James; had introduced himself as Bucky and that had been that, the though of calling him anything else was foreign. "You've just, you've always been Bucky."


End file.
